


Connoisseur

by Saucery



Series: Hartwin Stories [8]
Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Adorable, Animal Transformation, Animals, Cat, Crack, Cross-Generation Relationship, Cuddling & Snuggling, Cute, Established Relationship, Fluff, Funny, Implied Sexual Content, Kittens, M/M, Magical Realism, Mentor/Protégé, Ridiculous, Romance, Scent Marking, Scenting, Silly, Sleeping Together, Sleepy Cuddles, Surreal, Weird Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-04
Updated: 2015-04-04
Packaged: 2018-03-21 03:47:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3676209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saucery/pseuds/Saucery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Cats are connoisseurs of comfort.” — James Herriot.</p><p>Or, Harry gets turned into a cat.</p><p>I really have no excuse for this. I’m sorry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Connoisseur

* * *

 

Two days after Harry goes on a mission to infiltrate Valentine’s labs, a cat shows up on Eggsy’s doorstep. 

Eggsy stares down at it. It’s sleek and black, with strangely trimmed-looking whiskers, and has white paws like crisp, starched shirt-cuffs peeking out of a fine suit.

“No way,” says Eggsy, because— _no way_. The fact that the cat surveys his ratty trackpants with dignified disdain is neither here nor there. Cats are supposed to be judgmental, aren’t they? That doesn’t mean they’re secret agent mentors in disguise. Even if Valentine funds projects that allegedly include animal experimentation.

The cat purrs when Eggsy pets it, and it’s so much like Harry’s subvocal hum when Eggsy kisses him awake on Sunday mornings that Eggsy wants to cry. Or laugh. Or both.

He calls Merlin up, and dangles the cat in front of his laptop’s secure webcam so that Merlin can look at it. The cat, far from yowling at the undignified treatment, holds a paw up to its face, extends and retracts its claws, and studies them meditatively.

Is that… meant to be a threat?

Eggsy puts the cat down quickly, and it curls up on the keyboard, crossing its forelegs daintily. It subjects Merlin to the same steady regard it’s been subjecting Eggsy to.

Merlin curses—a rare enough occurrence to cement Eggsy’s suspicions that the cat is who he thinks it is—and tells Eggsy to bring it over tomorrow morning.

“Why not tonight?” Eggsy asks, even though it’s almost midnight. The Kingsmen never rest, anyway, and Merlin practically lives in his hangar-cum-laboratory.

“Because I’m in the middle of stopping a cyber-attack on the British government,” Merlin deadpans, “and that is somewhat more urgent than turning my newly feline colleague back into a man.”

Bugger. What’s Eggsy going to feed a cat? Especially a cat that happens to be Harry Hart?

The rotting Chinese takeout Eggsy has in the fridge won’t pass Harry’s strict standards. A saucer of milk seems too simple, and while this isn’t a date, Eggsy is as unwilling to disappoint Harry-the-cat as he was to disappoint Harry-the-human. God, he’s so owned. It’s embarrassing.

Eggsy phones Roxy, since Roxy had mentioned having a cat, once. After she’s done wheezing with laughter, she advises him to pop out and get some real cat-food. And to send her a photo. “For blackmail material,” she says. Like anything can ever qualify as blackmail material for Harry. He’ll probably just have the photo framed and hung next to Mr. Pickles’, as an example of excellent breeding in a cat.

Loath as Eggsy is to leave Harry alone in the flat, he has to, so he puts his sneakers on, sets a bowl of water on the floor, and asks Harry to be a good cat.

Harry looks at Eggsy like Eggsy just insulted him.

“Sorry,” Eggsy says. “Of course you’re a good cat. You’re the _best_ cat. Manners maketh cat, am I right?”

Harry, apparently mollified, hops onto the musty sofa and crosses his forelegs again. There’s a rerun of _Deal or No Deal_ in progress on the telly, and Harry’s expression evinces his utter boredom at the poor quality of programming on British public television.

Eggsy hurries down to the local dairy and buys the most expensive cat-food on display, a chicken-and-vegetable mix that looks better than the frozen dinners Eggsy has, most nights, except for when Harry invites him over and cooks delicious gourmet meals for him.

Unfortunately, the cat-food is named “Arthur’s,” which makes Eggsy wince, but it’s not like cats can read. It’s the only brand that seems like it might sate Harry’s discerning palate.

Eggsy gets back home, finds Harry nodding off to Noel Edmonds’ voice, and hesitates before opening a can of Arthur’s. He spoons the rich, if cold, gravy into a mini-casserole that his Mum had given him for Christmas, in hopes of him actually starting to cook for himself, “instead of constantly relying on that lovely boyfriend of yours.”

The smell of warming cat-food wakes Harry up, and he mews, somehow making the meow sound simultaneously polite and imperious, and not whiny or needy, like a meow ought to be.

“Have at it, then,” Eggsy says, taking the casserole out of the microwave and dipping a finger into it to test that it isn’t too hot. As Roxy had suggested, it’s just a bit above room temperature. He places it on the kitchen tiles and steps back, and Harry circles the dish a few times, sniffing snootily, before digging in with a sort of composed enthusiasm.

Eggsy sits at the small dining table and watches Harry eat. It’s oddly satisfying, and he resolves to learn how to cook, after all.

Harry laps at the water when he’s done eating, and follows Eggsy into the bedroom. He jumps onto Harry’s side of the bed—not that Harry stays over, often, but when he does, he sleeps on the left.

Eggsy crawls under the sheets, arm outstretched towards Harry, and falls asleep while scratching Harry behind the ears.

 

* * *

Eggsy awakens to getting his own hair stroked—by a broad, warm, familiar hand—and mumbles “thank god” into his pillow before he even finishes opening his eyes.

“Good morning,” says Harry, naked and toasty along Eggsy’s body, and Eggsy presses himself against him, stretching his toes until they brush Harry’s unfairly big feet.

“Mm,” says Eggsy, yawning. “You’re you. I need to tell Merlin not to worry.”

“He always worries. If it isn’t about us, it’ll be about something else. And I’m sure he’s commandeered one of the agency’s CCTV cameras outside your window to check on us, already.”

“Still. I knew he’d fix you eventually, but I was afraid it might take weeks, or even months, for him to reverse-engineer you back to your usual self.”

“I didn’t feel any different,” Harry says, sounding rather puzzled at himself. “After you fell asleep, yesterday, I spent ages rubbing myself against you, scent-marking you from head to toe. I’m surprised you didn’t wake up.”

Eggsy snorts. “That’s because you nuzzle me to sleep all the time.”

“It concerns me. You let your guard down when you’re sleeping, thanks to me.”

“I let my guard down _around you_ , you daft sod.” Eggsy kisses Harry’s jaw. “Should we get up and have some breakfast?”

“What breakfast? You barely have enough milk to feed a kitten. And I should know.”

“You weren’t a _kitten_. You were a grown-up cat. A very, very grown-up cat.”

“Are you calling me old?”

“I wouldn’t dare.” Eggsy widens his eyes earnestly. “You’re… distinguished, is what you are.”

“I’ll show you distinguished,” Harry mutters, and pins Eggsy to the bed.

They wind up not having breakfast, in the end.

 

* * *

**fin.**

**Author's Note:**

> Here’s [another ficlet](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3698453/chapters/8182739), in which Eggsy is a dog. You didn’t think I could resist, did you?
> 
> Oh, and Noel Edmonds is the host of _Deal or No Deal_. In case you were wondering who the heck he was.
> 
> Like my writing? Want updates and sneak previews? Follow me on [Tumblr](http://saucefactory.tumblr.com/)!


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